


Josephine's Weapon

by skybone



Series: Tapestry [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Friendship, Josephine Appreciation Month, Tea, it seemed like a good idea at the time, josiemonth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-19
Updated: 2015-04-19
Packaged: 2018-03-24 19:15:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3781258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skybone/pseuds/skybone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even at the age of seventeen, naive and untested and youthfully romantic, she was practical enough to know that this was ridiculous; you cannot fall in love with someone you don’t know. You cannot fall in love with them simply because of the clear blue of their eyes and the way those eyes crinkle when they smile. Well, you could—she had seen her friends fall victim to silly transitory passions for perfect strangers—but she prided herself on not being inclined to such follies. But this pragmatism did not stop her heart from stuttering in her chest, a foolishness that disturbed her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Josephine's Weapon

**Author's Note:**

> True love. Poetry. Oops. 
> 
> A companion piece to _[all is to be dared](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3655734)_. The story belongs to me; the world, characters and a few lines of dialogue belong to Bioware and I've just taken them out to play.

_Josephine’s weapon is tea._

_Oh, for the nobility and the diplomats, it is more likely to be a fine wine or an aged brandy, something edged and deadly. But for her friends—or those with whom she wishes to be friends—it is tea._

_She learns their weaknesses, and exploits them._

_Josephine is an expert on tea, a connoisseur, understanding its nuances and applications. She knows that some teas are remedies in senses other than a healer would use them, that some are armaments that can close a wound as well as open it. She prowls the stalls of the traders, looking for both the common and the unusual, and as the roads become safer she finds a wider range, some fearsomely exotic and strange._

_One would think that Solas, who hates tea, would be the hardest challenge, but it is not so. That place falls to Leliana, who is secretive about so many things, even when there is no need for it. And so Josephine, who has found the spymaster fascinating since they first met in Val Royeaux, takes on the quest; she will discover which tea Leliana prefers—or, perhaps, which tea prefers Leliana._

*          *          *

Josephine fell in love with Leliana the first time she saw her, at the moment she saw her; she looked at the smile of the woman being introduced to her and felt a shock startle her body and pluck her heart like a harp string. Bewildered and thoroughly discomfited, she smiled in return, said all the appropriate things, and wondered what had just happened, and why.

Even at the age of seventeen, naive and untested and youthfully romantic, she was practical enough to know that this was ridiculous; you cannot fall in love with someone you don’t know. You cannot fall in love with them simply because of the clear blue of their eyes and the way those eyes crinkle when they smile. Well, you _could_ —she had seen her friends fall victim to silly transitory passions for perfect strangers—but she prided herself on not being inclined to such follies. But this pragmatism did not stop her heart from stuttering in her chest, a foolishness that disturbed her.

In any case, nothing came of it. Leliana did not really even notice Josephine. She was older by some years, and at that time wildly in love with a mysterious woman named Marjolaine. Josephine encountered her a few times at social events, and Leliana was always kind, but Josephine was a callow student in her last year of finishing school when they first met, and later only one of many young nobles playing at being bards, while Leliana was the real thing. Leliana was elegant and wild and dangerous, but she did not generally socialize in the circles that Josephine moved in.

Josephine moved on in her life. She rejected the life of a bard, horrified and repulsed by her experiences, and resolved to find less wasteful, more peaceful ways of settling conflicts. Brilliant and determined, she rose through the ranks of diplomats in Antiva and eventually became the Ambassador to Orlais.

She had turned into a beautiful woman, and this, combined with the fact that she was a skilled player of the Game and also rising in power, meant that she was romantically pursued. She was careful with her heart; she took lovers, once, twice, three times, but while each gave her great pleasure for a time, the relationships did not mean enough to her, or to her companions, to be long-lasting.

It was many years later when Josephine and Leliana met again, when Leliana returned to Val Royeaux and Josephine, as Ambassador to Orlais, threw a welcoming party. Everyone who was anyone was there, showing themselves off, displaying their most clever maneuvers in the Game, and talking of nothing but politics, which is probably why the party was so dull. After midnight Leliana persuaded Josephine that the party could continue very successfully without her, and eventually convinced her to abandon it to find a venue that was more... lively. Josephine, tentative at first, enjoyed the whole adventure enormously. She always remembered that scandalous evening fondly, and it solidly cemented a new friendship between them.

By then Marjolaine was dead, and Leliana rarely spoke of her, though Josephine was never clear on all the details of the story. Leliana was much more likely to speak of the Hero of Fereldan, with whom she had travelled and fought; she had many tales of their adventures and more about the romance between the Warden and Alastair. She used to speak of Justinia as well, but had not done so since the cataclysm at the Conclave.

Their lives had taken them in very different directions, and made them very different people. And now here they were again, one still an Ambassador, the other the Inquisition’s spymaster, polar opposites in their work, but still close friends.

And in all that time, Josephine had never fallen out of love with Leliana.

*          *          *

_Josephine likes to take tea with others, and does her best to provide them with what they enjoy, employing her masterful conversational skills as an accompaniment, all to give them a moment of pleasure in which they may relax with her or with each other. She makes a point of taking tea occasionally with each of the companions, though she focuses most of her efforts on the Interludes she arranges for the Inquisitor and her advisors, and with Cassandra, whom she still considers an advisor. She sees this as a critical part of building the Inquisition through relationships; she knows that if the military might of the Inquisition is its muscle, the brawn that strikes, still diplomacy is the skeleton that supports it._

_She thinks that others may not understand this as she does. Sometimes the diplomatic skills required to achieve her goals with regard to tea are considerable._

*          *          *

Josephine enjoyed spending time with the Inquisitor. Trev was a little awkward in her elevated position; although noble, she was a Freemarcher, and Freemarchers had... distinctive... attitudes about the Game, and about Orlais in general. Vivienne could school her, but Vivienne was… well, Vivienne was Vivienne. Josephine could explain the finer points of the Game to Trev without expressing the contempt for lesser mortals that seemed glued to every utterance of the mage. Josephine knew that Trev genuinely appreciated Vivienne for her better qualities, and simply rolled her eyes at her affectations privately, but she also knew that Trev much preferred exploring the intricacies of Court custom and etiquette with the Lady Ambassador.

Trev was relaxing to be around, easy in her ways and almost always good tempered. On more than one occasion in the early stages of their friendship, she had flirted outrageously with Josephine, quite publicly, with a glint in her eye that warned of her utter insincerity, and Josephine responded in kind. It was pleasant to be able to flirt knowing that it was simply a game of words, without deeper implications; this was one facet of the Game that she actually rather enjoyed. Trev had flirted with others as well, but that was while they were still at Haven. Josephine had noticed that since then Trev had for the most part ceased to flirt with anyone; the Ambassador suspected that it was partly because their peril was clearer now, partly because she was simply being careful not to mislead anyone as to her expectations, and partly because she believed that her now elevated position as Inquisitor made it inappropriate. In some ways Josephine missed the friendly banter; it had been a good way to defuse tensions. She worried that the Inquisitor's natural playfulness was being overwhelmed by her cares.

But occasionally things still slipped through Trev's guard. At the War Table one day, Cullen asked about an Orlesian noble: “Lady Grenadine still refuses to commit to supporting the Inquisition?”

Leliana replied, “She has made it plain that she considers us a ragtag grouping of Fereldan boors with no sense of taste or protocol and a regrettable lack of fashion sense.” She sighed. “And this from a woman known for, in disguise, consorting with the most baseborn in the most appalling gambling dens in Val Royeaux.”

“Well,” said Trev with a sly look, “we have a resource as yet unused; perhaps our Lady Ambassador, whose beauty and elegance and expertise in fashion are surpassed only by her skills at Wicked Grace, could remove Lady Grenadine's fortune through a few card games, and intimidate her into submission?”

Josephine laughed. “I would be happy to employ my skills—and my wardrobe—on behalf of the Inquisition.” And then they moved on to more practical ways to influence the haughty noble, although she thought that Leliana, who had an odd expression, might actually keep the idea in reserve.

Josephine was reassured. It was nice to see that the Inquisitor still had retained some of her light-heartedness despite the seriousness of their situation.

*          *          *

_Cullen rarely takes tea, somehow managing to always have an excuse to avoid Josephine’s Interludes. He does this to such a degree that she sometimes considers giving up on him altogether, but it is a point of pride with her that she works with everyone, no matter how reluctant. He is a straightforward, somewhat stolid man, and when he is in attendance he prefers a straightforward, plain strong tea with plenty of milk and sugar. He has little imagination when it comes to tea, and while he is amiable enough to try new things if they are presented to him, his preference is clearly already fixed and immutable._

_The Inquisitor is difficult only because she has so many claims against her time; she obviously enjoys the visits, but never lingers. She comes to sit with Josephine sometimes, and closes her eyes and disappears behind curls of steam. She prefers a strong, smoky tea that few others will tolerate; Josephine thinks it reminds her of campfires and the time she spends away from the political pressures of her position, dealing with dangers that are much simpler to understand, if no less lethal._

_She is surprised that Cassandra was not more challenging to bring to her tea table. Josephine thinks that the Seeker is like a mabari—but no, that would be Varric, fierce and loyal. Cassandra... Cassandra is like a wolf, beautiful and shy and deadly, sometimes solitary, but once having found her place in a pack happy to be there. But the Seeker, though skittish and suspicious, succumbed relatively quickly in the end; Josephine simply commented after Cassandra withdrew from the group of advisors that she missed seeing her at the War Table, and asked if they might take tea occasionally. Cassandra accepted the invitation somewhat dubiously, but in the end appeared to enjoy herself very much. It turns out that Cassandra prefers the cutting clarity of mint tea best, and admits to it freely. She is also happy to try anything Josephine puts before her—though usually ending by asserting that nothing can replace mint—and so they have become friends over Josephine's teapot, and try new teas together._

_But Leliana—Leliana gives nothing away. She comes to the Interludes frequently, but she is unreadable._

_When they first met she thought of Leliana as some kind of large tawny cat, sleek and satisfied and dangerous, with a wicked sense of humour and a tendency to tease. But Leliana no longer seems like a cat to her. Now, she thinks, Leliana is like a bird of prey—though perhaps it is only the hood that reminds her of this—wild mad eyes and never quite safe. Leliana is a cipher. She says that she has no preferences in tea, and will drink anything Josie cares to serve her, and does so without complaint, no matter how strange the results turn out to be. And sometimes they are very strange; Josephine mixes and matches, and tests tea blends on Leliana that she would not dream of subjecting others to. But Leliana will not commit to any of them._

_Leliana has changed, since Josephine first met her all those years ago. Josephine remembers that then she constantly drank tea flavoured with cinnamon and exotic spices. It is not at all clear whether she still likes it._

*          *          *

Some time later in the same day of that War Table meeting, Trev spoke with Leliana in the rookery about intelligence the spymaster had gathered. It was useful information, and Leliana seemed very pleased by both its acquisition and its implications.

The Inquisitor had sometimes been able to draw the spymaster out with regard to her personal life, but on the whole she seemed to prefer to keep their conversations focused on political issues. So Trev was completely taken by surprise when Leliana said to her, “I notice you’ve paid Lady Montilyet quite a number of compliments.”

“Yes,” said Trev, wondering where this was going, “I enjoy her company very much.”

Leliana frowned. “An entanglement with our ambassador would be _most_ unwise. I asked Josephine to join the Inquisition because we needed a diplomat. Not so she could be toyed with.”

Trev gaped. “I—I am not interested in Josephine!”

“But does she know that?” said the spymaster. “Josephine’s no stranger to courtly intrigue, but love? There she is an innocent. I ask that you treat her with kindness, for her sake—as well as yours.”

Trev, mortified, descended the stairs from the rookery half disbelieving in the conversation she had just had. How could the spymaster, usually so perceptive, have so misinterpreted things? Was it possible that Josephine truly did not understand that the Inquisitor's flirting was not serious?

“Well,” she said to Josephine, in the Ambassador’s office, “Leliana has just given me quite the speech.”

“What about?” said Josephine, looking up.

“About our relationship,” said Trev.

Josephine blinked, and then began to frown. “Oh,” she said with an exasperated sigh, “she is _impossible_. Might we discuss this somewhere more private?”

They retreated to Trev’s quarters, which the Inquisitor sometimes thought was the only truly private space in all of Skyhold, although given Leliana's abilities she was not entirely sure of that. She asked Josephine to sit and then explained, ending miserably with, “I am not... romantically inclined toward you, Lady Ambassador, but I value your friendship very highly. I do not want to mislead you, or—or cause you pain.”

Josephine had risen to her feet part way through Trev's explanation, and now she paced the floor, her body stiff with indignation. “Leliana said I was an ‘innocent in love’?”

“More or less,” said Trev, her eyes following the furious ambassador back and forth.

“Of all the—I’m quite capable of understanding our association,” raged Josephine. “I’ve— _never_ thought your intentions were romantic, Inquisitor, I assure you.”

“I’m very glad,” said Trev honestly.

Josephine stopped then, and looked at her. “This must be very awkward for you. I am sorry, Inquisitor, I have enjoyed the compliments you paid me, and I _never_ assumed any meaning beyond kindness and lighthearted teasing. I have responded in kind, believing that you would understand that I did so in a spirit of... mutual playfulness.”

“That is how I understood it,” said Trev.

“And I would be _very upset_ ,” said Josephine emphatically, “if Leliana’s misinterpretation harmed our friendship. I hope that we may continue as we have been doing, and that you will still take tea with me when you have the time.”

“Of course I will,” said Trev, who loved gossiping with the Ambassador over tea and would have missed doing so dreadfully.

Josephine sighed. “Thank you. I cannot believe that Leliana would put you in such a difficult position—” she stopped abruptly. “I will speak with her.”

“It is not necessary on my account!” said Trev quickly, alarmed.

“No,” said Josephine firmly, “but it is certainly necessary.” Trev looked at the expression on her face and felt slightly sorry for Leliana.

*          *          *

Josephine thought of confronting Leliana in the rookery, but in the end decided that she would prefer the meeting to happen on her own ground, where she was surrounded by the accoutrements of her position and achievements. So she sent a runner asking Leliana to meet with her in her office. She expected a runner in return, with a proposal for a meeting time, but instead it was Leliana herself who appeared shortly thereafter. Josephine dismissed the runner she had just given a message to carry, and turned to her.

“I spoke with the Inquisitor,” said Josephine.

“Ah, yes,” said Leliana noncommittally. “We have spoken as well.”

“So I heard,” said Josephine. She was still ferociously angry, and allowed some of what she felt to come through in her tone. “I have a few things to say about that.”

“Josie—”

“No,” said Josephine, “no ‘Josie’. This time you listen. Firstly: I knew exactly what the Inquisitor’s flirting meant—exactly as much as the flirting I gave in return. Neither of us were serious, and we both knew it.

“Secondly: it was none of your business whether either of us meant anything by it. That was between us. Your interference has embarrassed both of us, and it is lucky that the Inquisitor is so forgiving.

“Thirdly: do you truly believe that I am so innocent as to be incapable of handling myself in affairs of the heart?”

“Josephine,” said Leliana, “I was afraid that you would be hurt if you misunderstood—”

“You were trying to protect me?” said the Ambassador in disbelief. “You allow me to choose how to deal with _assassins_ , but you will not permit me to choose how to deal with _flirting_? I am not the seventeen year old you first met! I cannot believe that you think I am so incapable, such—such a child. You are not my mother!”

Leliana's pale skin seemed even paler than usual. “No,” she said. “I am not. I apologize. I—you are very capable, and an adult, and I did not treat you as one. I am very sorry. It will not happen again.”

Josephine stared at her, slightly mollified. “As long as we are clear.”

“Very,” said Leliana.

*          *          *

Trev shook her head after Josephine left. She was greatly relieved to find that she and Josephine understood each other, and that she had not misled the other woman. Trev knew nothing much of Josephine’s romantic experience or inclinations, but she was one of the most capable people the Inquisitor had ever met, an expert in the Game, with keen insights into people’s motivations and an understanding of how to leverage them strategically. It seemed unlikely that she would be such an innocent as Leliana described.

Trev was also very greatly annoyed. What had motivated Leliana to confront her about Josephine? They were old friends, of course, and close ones, and doubtless Leliana looked out for Josephine’s interests; the Inquisitor had already realized that the spymaster was fiercely protective of the people she cared for. But this, this _mother-hennishness_... what on earth had possessed her to get involved? Trev could not imagine taking the role of examiner and gatekeeper in a friend's love life. Although she supposed that if anyone flirted with Cassandra in such a way, the temptation to do so would be very strong. But that was diff—

Oh.

Could that be it? The more she thought about it, the more likely it seemed. She replayed War Room meetings in her mind. When she thought about it, she realized that Leliana's eyes were on Josephine more often than on any of the others, and her expression seemed... softer... when they were. She thought back to the Interludes she had attended with Leliana and Josephine and Cullen. Leliana was not quite so formal there, not quite so careful. And Josephine... Yes.

Yes indeed.

She was convinced that _something_ was there, although there was no sign that either intended to act on it. She was not sure that either was even aware of the other’s attraction.

Well, well.

Perhaps she could do something about that. She sighed. It would be nice if _someone’s_ romance could go well. And Leliana was hardly in a position to complain about an outsider interfering in matters of the heart.

She would have to think about this. She did not want to hurt either of them, or do damage. But perhaps there was something...

*          *          *

Josephine did not hold an Interlude that week. She was still angry, and did not feel particularly social; and a bevy of nobles had just arrived at Skyhold, providing both a great deal of work and an appropriate excuse for omitting the informal gathering.

She saw nothing of Leliana, other than at the regular War Table meetings. There they conversed as usual, or almost as usual; Leliana was somewhat distant and spoke in a way that somehow seemed unnaturally _polite_ to Josephine, which felt dreadfully wrong.

She found herself very unsettled by the whole series of events.

*          *          *

“Varric,” said Trev, finding him in his corner by the fire and ensuring that there was no one nearby, “I wonder if you might do me a favour.”

“Name it, Inquisitor,” said the dwarf expansively, clearly in a good mood.

“I need some poetry,” Trev began to say.

“Sorry,” he interrupted, “I’m not a poet. Can’t write that kind of thing to save my ass.”

“It doesn’t have to be _good_ poetry,” said Trev. “Just... rhyming couplets. I’ve tried myself, but... I’m no writer at all.”

Varric raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Ah... what I wanted was a few rhyming couplets for each of our advisors and companions. Describing their romantic entanglements. Or romantic entanglements that don’t yet exist. Or might exist. Or may never exist. Hints. Nothing explicit.”

Both of Varric’s eyebrows shot up. “Exactly what is the purpose of these rhymes?”

“I have been thinking of making a drinking game,” she lied. “Though I’m not sure it could work. But I can’t write poetry, and without the poetry to look at I can’t really tell whether it would work or not.” She had spent some time coming up with this excuse, but when she actually spoke the words out loud they sounded pathetically unlikely.

Varric stared at her for a moment, his eyes narrowed. “So,” he said thoughtfully, “you want couplets, about, say, how the Inquisitor yearns for what she can never have?”

“I’m not—” Trev said hurriedly, then swallowed. “Exactly so.”

“I might be able to do that,” said Varric, with a predatory smile. He leaned forward conspiratorially. “For a price.”

“Which is?” said Trev, warily.

“Well now,” said Varric slowly, “I think a nice bottle of good Antivan brandy would be a start. And then perhaps you could tell me what you are _really_ up to.”

She had not planned on explaining, but perhaps it was not such a bad idea. When she finished, Varric sighed. “Ruffles and the Nightingale... I _thought_ that there was something there.”

“I could be wrong,” said Trev. “And I don’t want to hurt either of them if I am; just... give things a little prod if I’m right.”

Varric nodded. “It’s an interesting challenge... all right, I’m in. Come by in a day or two and I’ll have something for you.”

*          *          *

Two days later she found Varric again. “All right, Inquisitor,” he said, handing her a piece of parchment. “See what you think. They’re pretty awful, but they may do the job.”

Trev looked at the couplets and smiled. They were pretty awful, put they were also... “Perfect.”

*          *          *

The next step was to enlist Sera, who seemed consistently able to penetrate the most secure parts of Skyhold unobserved and was therefore the logical person to plant the slips of paper. But ensuring both Sera’s cooperation and her discretion were key to the success of this. Trev liked Sera very much, to the point that the rogue had been able to convince her to participate in pranking other members of the Inquisition—all in the name of morale, of course—and she thought that the elf would be amenable to her plan. She also thought that Sera, though sometimes careless with her tongue, had a very good sense of when it was best to hold it.

“You want to do _what_?” Sera said, when Trev had closed the door of her room and explained. “Are you bat-shite crazy? I _like_ Josie. I don't want to mess her up. And Leliana...” She shuddered. “Scary.”

“If each of them thinks that the other has a romance in the offing,” Trev explained, “well, I thought that if they don't care, nothing will happen. But if they actually _do_ care about each other they wouldn't be able to resist trying to find out who the romance was with. And hopefully with all that digging to find out what was going on they’d uncover each others’ feelings. Er, assuming the feelings are there.”

Sera stared at her. “Talk about playing with fire...” Then she brightened. “But it’s some choice mayhem, innit? And if it works...”

So Sera was onside.

*          *          *

Josephine found the first note tucked into a page of her calendar, not the big book used for Inquisition planning, but the smaller one she used half as a reminder and half as a journal. It said:

 _Nightingale sings her songs of love_  
_Nobody hears but the rooks up above_

She stared at the slip of paper. The handwriting was unfamiliar and so perfect as to have absolutely no character at all. Where did it come from? And what did it mean?

Leliana was also known as Sister Nightingale. Was it about her? Singing songs of love? She suddenly felt uneasy. If that was what it meant, who wasLeliana singing love songs to? And why did only the rooks hear them? This made no sense.

And who was the poet? Varric did not write poetry, and he was the only writer in residence that she was aware of. But it could have been written by anyone; it was not _good_ poetry.

And why was it tucked into her calendar? Surely no one could have guessed about her secret... affection.

No, of course not. Someone was simply pranking Leliana by leaving a silly couplet about an imaginary passion around. She would have thought it was Sera if she had not known of the rogue’s lack of penmanship. She would simply ignore it, and thereby ruin the writer’s fun.

But she tucked the slip of paper carefully away into the back pages of an especially dry book on the history of economic relations between Orlais and Ferelden. Just in case... evidence... was ever needed.

*          *          *

 _Satin and silk, feather and ink,_  
_A heart that’s won by—who do you think?_

Leliana’s reaction to finding a couplet was considerably less tolerant. She was _not_ happy to find a scrap of paper insinuated into a folio of private and somewhat politically sensitive letters. She instantly recognized that it referred to Josephine, and that made her even less happy.

Was someone courting Josephine? The thought that such a thing could be happening without her knowledge was appalling, because it pointed out a gap in her intelligence. Yes. That was why.

And if someone was courting the Ambassador, who was it? She dismissed Trev as a possibility, having recognized that the Inquisitor's response to her challenge was entirely truthful.

And how—and why—had this turned up in her private documents? Had someone witnessed her being chastised by Josephine? Was this a sly way to needle her? Did they think she herself was enamored—she quickly discarded _that_ thought before it could fully form.

She had no intention of letting this pass. She was determined to find out exactly who was responsible for this breach in security—and, incidentally, of course, to find out whether Josephine was being courted. For her protection. But she would not use her agents in this investigation; this intrusion was odd enough that she was not prepared to trust anyone, and she told herself that she did not want to expose Josephine to speculation. In this investigation she would rely on her own resources.

*          *          *

 _Nightingale, nightingale, sing her a song_  
_The nights are so lonely, the nights are so long_

The second couplet, discovered between two pieces of fresh parchment, worried Josephine more, not because of what it said, but because now there had been two of them, which meant it was not a simple prank. Well, partly because of what it said, if she was honest. Who was this “her” the poem referred to? Was someone supposed to sing to Leliana, or was Leliana singing?

 _Was_ Leliana courting someone? This was a terrible thought.

Leliana herself seemed to have retreated to her rookery entirely, and Josephine had still spoken to her only at the War Table. When she had seen her there, she thought the spymaster's face looked unusually drawn and pale, not like the face of someone happily in love. Perhaps she was _unhappily_ in love? There was no way to know, especially if they never spoke.

She now wondered if cancelling the Interlude had been a good idea. But Leliana might not have come if she had held it. The spymaster might think that Josephine was still angry—which she was, of course. But she did not want this—disagreement—to destroy their friendship. She did not want—

She sent Leliana a note, asking her to meet in the gardens. This was neutral territory, and while quite public also had corners that were reasonably private, if one took care. It was in one of these quieter places that she settled herself and waited for the spymaster. Leliana came across the quadrangle looking elegant and beautiful as always, and stood before her.

Sometimes when Josephine saw Leliana in sunshine, when the light caught her beautiful eyes, she was left almost speechless. And it had been many days since she had seen her anywhere but in shadows. She managed to gather herself together. “Leliana,” she said, “I do still wish to be friends.”

The spymaster looked at her and the first smile Josephine had seen on her face in some time quirked her lips. “I would like that,” she said quietly.

Josephine smiled back at her. “But I am still angry at you,” she said.

This time Leliana’s smile was wider, and more genuine. “I am not surprised. I would have expected nothing less.”

*          *          *

_Josephine loves the varied flavours of tea, even the ones she does not like. The blends are windows into other worlds, other lands; they are a way of travelling to places she hopes to see, someday. She keeps them safe in a wooden cabinet with small, perfectly made airtight boxes, each box affixed with a slip of paper, the contents noted in her careful hand. She has a second cabinet for her experiments, the blends she makes herself, with boxes for spices as well as the teas, and a small sewn notebook in which she documents the combinations she has tried. For she does experiment, bringing together teas and herbs and spices which sometimes seem destined to clash. It is her greatest pride when ingredients which seem unlikely companions can be made harmonious._

_It is very much what she does in her daily work, but with results which are considerably more pleasant to experience; or if they are not, there are no lasting consequences to discarding the contents of a pot._

*          *          *

Things were back to normal after that, more or less; the Ambassador held an Interlude, and Leliana attended, and so, for a wonder, did Cullen, and they did seem to enjoy themselves. Josephine thought Leliana regarded her with more caution and fewer assumptions, which was on the whole not a bad thing. But the puzzle of the couplets remained. She could see no sign that anyone was courting Leliana, or vice versa. But still...

And even though they had made up their dispute, she thought Leliana still looked strained and tired and thinner than usual. She had noticed that the spymaster had changed after the Conclave and Justinia's death, but everyone had been changed by that catastrophic event. Things had been frantic and confusing, everyone was in a state of intense distress, and she had never really thought about it beyond that. But while most other people seemed to have found an accommodation with their grief, there was a sadness, a bleakness, an _emptiness_ about Leliana that had not dissipated, and she berated herself for not having noticed it sooner. She realized that Leliana no longer told stories, no longer sang. She did not know what she could do about this, but she felt she must do something.

She was not sure who she could talk to about this. After the embarrassment with the Inquisitor she felt that Trev was not an option. And although she liked and respected Cullen, he did not strike her as being of much help in this regard. Eventually she decided to speak to Cassandra; although the Seeker had withdrawn as an advisor, she was someone Josephine trusted. She was not likely to gossip about what the Ambassador said to her; it was not as if she talked much at the best of times. And she had worked as the Divine's Right Hand to Leliana's Left Hand.

Over tea and Nevarran sweets, she drew Cassandra out on how they had worked together, so it was natural to speak of how Leliana had changed. But Cassandra did not appear to have noticed the spymaster's unhappiness, so she gained little insight from the conversation. Still, it was reassuring to be able to talk a little with a friend about her concerns.

*          *          *

Leliana had found a second message as well, of course.

 _Satin and silk, blue and gold_  
_Whose arms will her heart unfold?_

This one was tucked under a candle in the nook she used to make her devotions; technically any of her agents could have worshipped there, but in practice none dared, making their way instead to the main chapel. Consequently this was a space, however open, that she had come to consider to be very private. She stared at the slip of paper and actually bared her teeth. This... this... intruder... had a level of insolence that infuriated and worried her.

She redoubled her subtle questioning of people, her efforts to find the person responsible; she would _not_ tolerate a threat to Josephine. But she found nothing.

*          *          *

Things might still have gone smoothly if Varric had not become so enchanted by his own work that he failed to stop writing couplets. He put the rhymes written for people other than Josephine and Leliana carefully away in a notebook kept in a locked box in his rooms, so it should not have mattered.

But he had not reckoned on Cole.

Cole did not have any sense of private property, or for that matter of privacy. The poems had been written about people, therefore they must be _for_ people. The poems for Leliana and Josephine had been distributed in ways that allowed them to be found, so the poems were meant to be found. And many people suffered from heartaches, and those aches might be helped.

And so little slips of paper started showing up in any number of places around Skyhold. They were not always found by the intended recipient, and sometimes the people who found them, intrigued, showed them to others, or memorized and recited them. And of course they were often ambiguous in meaning, which led to any number of confusions and wonderfully scandalous speculations.

*          *          *

Perhaps her talk with Cassandra had paid off after all. Josephine looked down from the main stairs of the keep into the yard a few days later and saw that Leliana was sparring with Cassandra, a sight so surprising that it made her do a double take, and she realized just how long it had been since she'd seen Leliana practice her martial skills. This was a significant achievement on Cassandra's part, if she was responsible. Josephine was delighted.

Leliana had thrown her hood back, and her red hair caught the sun like a flame. She was fighting with twin blades, and they twinkled in the light as she spun around the warrior. Cassandra moved steadily, powerfully, and surprisingly quickly. It was a dance between two fighters both expert with their weapons, and a small crowd had gathered to watch. Josephine was down the stairs and slipping through the crowd past taller onlookers to the front, before she even made a conscious decision to move.

Evidently this was their second bout, but both women moved easily and fluidly in the summer heat, and their skill made it an exciting match, far beyond the stylized patterns practiced by the recruits. Eventually Leliana yielded to Cassandra, laughing. But the third bout she won, with Cassandra conceding with a smile and then bowing to the spymaster as a courtier would, a little clumsy because of the weight of the shield on her arm.

Both of them were breathing hard from the exertion. Josephine's own breathing had speeded up, simply watching. She could see Leliana's breast rising and falling as she got her breath back, and there was a trickle of sweat running down the side of her face. The Ambassador felt desire stab low in her belly and swallowed hard. She firmly suppressed this inappropriate... urge... and stepped forward to join the other women, congratulating them both on their bouts.

“And Leliana,” she said, “I have received a gift of Nevarran sweets. Cassandra has already had an opportunity to sample them, but you have not. So now you must have tea with me to celebrate your victory.”

“No, Josie, I have work I must do,” the spymaster began, but Josephine had a firm grip on her arm.

“Nonsense. There is nothing that will not wait. And these are _Nevarran_ sweets.” She cast a smile back at Cassandra and pulled Leliana away.

In the end, Leliana did not seem in a particular hurry to get back to the rookery; the sweets were very good indeed. Since the spymaster refused, as usual, to express a preference for the kind of tea she was served, Josephine made the choice, risking the smoky tea preferred by the Inquisitor, and was pleased with the way the tastes balanced. The conversation was as relaxed as it used to be before she had fought with Leliana, and the Ambassador felt very happy.

Neither of them had said anything about the appearance of the rhyming couplets, and Josephine suddenly thought that this was odd, given the sensation those rhymes had caused in Skyhold. And there was really no reason not to discuss what other people had found; it was only the couplets about Leliana that she wished not to mention.

“So... what is your professional opinion of these poems people seem to be finding all over Skyhold?” she asked.

Leliana went very still, looking unexpectedly startled by the change in subject. “I—it is certainly a mystery, is it not?” she finally said.

Josephine laughed. “Indeed. Sometimes so much of a mystery that no one is even certain what is meant. Have you heard about the one Ser Morriss found today?”

Leliana shook her head, so Josephine said, “Let me see if I can remember it... Ah. It was something like this:

 _Uncertain heart, the play’s in parts_  
_Yet soon the final scene must start_

“Really, it is so vague that it could mean anything, to anyone!”

Leliana smiled. “Perhaps that is the writer's intention—to provoke people into thinking that the rhymes are about them, when really they are about no one.”

“Oh, some of them seem quite precise in who they target,” said Josephine. “But what is your sense of this? Do you think it is meant as a prank? It seems like something Sera might do, but Sera... does not seem so _articulate_.”

“I do not believe it is Sera,” said Leliana slowly. “Beyond that... I do not know. And I am not sure about the motivations of the writer. But I would not trust that they are benevolent.”

*          *          *

Cullen unexpectedly appeared in Josephine's office a day later. She was taking tea with the Iron Bull and Krem, and immediately invited the commander to join them. He looked hesitant, but in the end did so. She made him a new pot of strong plain tea, the other being almost empty, and waited to see what he wanted. Cullen _never_ came to tea.

Eventually he seemed to come to a decision, and said, “Lady Ambassador, I have... found a poem. A sort of poem... I found it near the training dummies.” He held out a scrap of paper. She took it, and read:

 _The heart responds to what's in reach_  
_But power can never heal this breach_

Bull, looking over her shoulder, grunted and said, “Another one. People have been finding these around lately. They all seem to be about s—”He broke off, eying the Ambassador, and continued, “ah, love.”

Cullen did not look less worried. “Love? The mention of the Breach seems to refer to the Inquisitor. But the Inquisitor is not in love.”

They all looked at him.

And then Bull said, with finality, “Well, if she is, it's none of our business. Right, Krem?”

“Right, chief,” said the Lieutenant. “Never saw it.”

“I agree,” said Josephine decisively, and threw the scrap of paper into the fire. “I do not believe there is any threat in this, simply a desire to create scandal. I do not see any reason to encourage it—or mention it to the Inquisitor.”

Bull changed the subject by asking Cullen about his thoughts on a particular armour modification, and then they were arguing about the details. Krem added a couple of comments to their discussion, but then turned to Josephine and asked for her advice as to sources of sewing supplies; he said that he had a project in mind. The Ambassador took a lively interest in such things, as she frequently commissioned clothing for balls and other events, and was well-informed, which led to a discussion on the benefits of certain fabrics over others, and that even drew Cullen and Bull in once they started talking about the durability and resistences inherent in some kinds of cloth. Everyone enjoyed themselves immensely, and Trev never heard a word about the rhyme found near the training dummies.

*          *          *

One of the most popular couplets, in terms of inspiring conjecture, ran,

 _Know your enemy, hold him close_  
_See the heart of an opening rose_

On the surface it sounded like it might be about the Iron Bull and Dorian, whose peoples were avowed enemies. When Bull heard about the speculation he laughed and laughed and laughed, and roared, “But which of us is the rose, eh?” Dorian posed elegantly and opined that a rose was far too common a flower to apply to either of them.

And altogether the consensus was that this interpretation was so outrageously unlikely that most people dismissed it out of hand.

On the other hand, when Sera heard the one that ran,

 _Farmer’s daughter, ever fore_  
_Dreams of one who aids the poor_

her eyebrows disappeared under her ragged fringe and a slow smile slid over her face. When Lace Harding heard it, she closed her eyes briefly, walked into the Herald’s Rest, ordered a large glass of Antivan brandy, tossed it off in one gulp, and made her way to the second floor. Neither of them had anything to say about what happened behind Sera's closed door, but the elf's expression over the next days looked exceedingly like that of a cat that had just discovered a dairy, and she seemed to have much less time than usual to create mayhem. And Scout Harding had a smile the size of Rialto Bay.

*          *          *

Cassandra really did not see what all the fuss was about with regard to the poems; it was obvious that they were simply someone's attempt to create scandal, and therefore should be disregarded. She said as much to Josephine when the Ambassador hesitantly mentioned, in confidence, that she had found rhymes suggesting that Leliana was contemplating a romantic liaison. Cassandra snorted. “I think not. Leliana is far too busy with her work, and I have never seen her display the least interest in anyone. Do not worry about it. These poems are all nonsense, and not worth your attention.”

“I wasn't worrying, just curious,” said Josephine mildly. “I expect the writer is simply trying to make scandal where none exists.” And she left the subject alone thereafter. But privately she wondered if Cassandra's analysis was accurate, or if this was one of those blind spots the Seeker seemed to occasionally have.

Cassandra said much the same thing to Leliana when the spymaster mentioned a rhyme about Josephine, also strictly in confidence, and entirely in the context of her concern for the Ambassador's safety. Cassandra rolled her eyes. “There are so many of these... ridiculous... poems that I hardly think the Ambassador is likely to be singled out. Anyway, I do not believe it for a minute. It is all nonsense, simply someone pranking people. It is best to ignore it.”

Leliana sighed inwardly. Cassandra might think this was a silly thing to worry about, but the Seeker had never been good at identifying the more _subtle_ manifestations of intrigue.

It was perhaps inevitable that a poem that seemed to reference Cassandra would eventually surface.

 _A heart's a fine treasure for a hero to find_  
_But the chest remains empty if the seeker is blind_

Cassandra was outraged when she overheard someone in the tavern reciting it when she entered unnoticed. She loomed over them, scowling, and the scout who had spoken squeaked and bolted, so she had some hope that they would keep their mouth shut thereafter. But she was not satisfied.

This—this was intolerable. Who was this, this person (she would not dignify them with the title of writer), to write such nonsense and toy with people's private lives? In any case, she was not blind, which was the pr—oh, damn them all. She would find the person responsible and—speak—speak _firmly_ —with them.

Varric, of course, was her first suspect. But when challenged, he put his hand to his heart and said: “I swear, I had nothing to do with spreading these poems. My books are far better writing than this drivel.”

All of which was quite true, if not exactly honest.

Varric was her only suspect, really, and if it was not him... Eventually, baffled and stymied in her attempt to find the culprit, Cassandra simply made a disgusted noise and gave up trying to solve the mystery. She had more important things to worry about than a badly written rhyme that was _entirely_ inaccurate in its assessment of her perceptions.

*          *          *

Varric had initially been horrified when the poems disappeared from his notebook and then began to reappear, and worried about how and why it happened and who was responsible. He knew it was not Trev—an equally horrified Trev had come to him when the first couplet appeared, demanding to know if _he_ was responsible. Sera had said she had nothing to do with it, and Sera would not bother lying about such a thing.

But finally he simply shrugged to himself; it was a mystery. Not all of the poems had resurfaced; he rather thought that some had been found by those who were their subjects, and quickly destroyed. There was nothing he could do about it now, in any case... and the results of the poems' distribution might be a profitable source of future tales. Certainly the furor was amusing to observe.

*          *          *

Inevitably, the question of the couplets, raised by Cullen, was addressed at the War Table, which produced an oddly stilted discussion. Cullen was concerned about morale; Trev pointed out that the speculation as to who was referenced in the poems was actually generating a good deal of cheer amongst Skyhold's inhabitants, if not perhaps for the people who suspected they were the subjects of them. In general Trev seemed to firmly hold the belief that the whole thing was simply someone's prank, and not worth investigating. Leliana darkly suggested that the person behind this could have malevolent intentions, but admitted that so far she had not been able to identify the culprit, and that no harm appeared to have been done. Josephine seemed unusually indecisive about the whole thing, and her expressed opinions were vague and contradictory.

In the end, no one could think of anything to do about the couplets that had not already been done, and conversation moved on to other topics with a distinct air of relief.

*          *          *

_In some ways it is not so much the taste of tea that Josephine loves, but the process of making it, the rituals of companionship. The roles are clearly defined; she is the hostess, responsible for the pleasure of her guests and the harmony with which they interact. There is the preparation of materials; the water must be ready in her kettle, the cabinets of teas at hand. There is the consultation, the determination of what would be best on this day, at this time. Or sometimes there is no consultation; she looks at the face of her guest and prescribes a tea to comfort, or sooth, or energize. She is good at reading faces._

_And then there is the tea-making itself. Setting the kettle over the fire, preparing the pot and cups. Putting the loose tea into the tea ball that Harritt crafted to her specifications. Waiting until the kettle sings; first heating the pot and then committing water and tea to their consummation._

_Waiting, and conversing._

_Sharing the tea; a cup to each person. Instead of using a matched set, she keeps a cup for each of her friends that suits their tastes and needs. A delicate, elegant porcelain for Vivienne, an enormous mug for the Iron Bull that still seems tiny in his hands, which are astonishingly deft. A smaller but sturdy mug for Trev, who sometimes has a tendency to break things. Cassandra has a plain reddish-brown cup with a slash of colour across it, simple but with its own elegance and strength. Cullen has a mug, brightly coloured and strong enough to compensate for his tendency to set his cups down too hard._

_Leliana... there again, she can sense no preference, no commitment. So she provides Leliana with a plain white cup, not special in any way except in the elegance of its form._

_If appropriate, she offers milk, or honey, or lemon, or any of the other accompaniments. And once the preparations are complete, they lean back, and sip their tea. She can see them begin to relax. She can see them begin to set aside the day's cares. And she knows that she has been successful._

*          *          *

Josephine decided that the answer to the confusion and conjecture caused by the couplets was to encourage people to share information in a relaxed environment—in other words, over tea—and to do so more often. This was not simply gossiping; this was... gathering intelligence. But although people were generally enthusiastic about discussing the rhymes and their implications, and sometimes happy to speculate wildly, no one seemed able to offer any hard evidence as to their source. The responses to the couplets varied; some were outraged, some entertained.

Surprisingly, Vivienne fell into the latter camp, despite the circulation of a rhyme that said:

 _Never in company, or trapped in a tower_  
_Never alone, for she sleeps with power_

“My dear,” she said to Josephine, sipping an extravagantly expensive rare tea with a hit of citrus flavouring from her elegant cup, “it is never a bad thing to have people become aware of the power one holds. For the rest, I care nothing; the rhymes are poorly written, with deplorable scansion, and suffer from a poverty of imagination.” She had no conjectures as to the source of the poems and plainly did not care.

Solas, who was attending the same gathering, raised an eyebrow very slightly and pretended again to sip from his cup. The Ambassador knew perfectly well that he detested the drink, and that she would find his cup nearly untouched when he left. As hostess, she should have made sure to provide him with an alternative—but there was something so charming about his distaste that she had never quite convinced herself to do so. Solas seemed to know nothing about the couplets either; his researches kept him so focused on the Fade that she wasn't sure he had even been aware of the existence of the poems until they were pointed out to him.

The gatherings to drink tea and talk were not exactly successful in terms of Josephine's hidden agenda, but they had gotten people speaking to each other who normally scarcely exchanged words, so she had accomplished something, at least.

*          *          *

Leliana had begun to take tea with Josephine more often than she had previously, eventually almost every day. Sometimes she appeared in Josephine's office in mid afternoon, sometimes they arranged to meet later in the evening, if the day's work carried on past dinner, as it often did. Josephine enjoyed these breaks immensely; and when she was alone with the Ambassador, the spymaster seemed more relaxed and inclined to humour, and glimpses of the light-hearted person she had been in the past sometimes showed themselves.

She was surprised, on one sunny afternoon, when Leliana appeared carrying a wooden box with a trader's marks on it and offered it to her. “I have a gift for you,” said the spymaster.

“A gift!” said Josephine, lifting the lid, “But what is the occasion? I am not—” She stopped pulling out the packing straw and said quietly, “Oh.” And then she moved again, teasing out the object that had been nestled in the straw. “Oh, my.”

“There is no occasion,” said Leliana. “Just that you are... a very kind and sweet person. And I thought you would like this.”

It was a teapot, blown from beautiful Serault glass, full of light and subtle golden colour. “Oh, I _do_ ,” said Josephine. “I like it very much. Much more than like it.” She felt a warm glow of happiness spread through her as she looked at the teapot; she had rarely seen anything so beautiful. It would change as the teas changed, and always be beautiful. She turned to Leliana, and, impulsively and deliberately, took both the spymaster's hands in hers and pressed a kiss on her lips.

It lasted just a little too long to be truly sisterly, and she felt just a little response begin under her lips, and then hesitate. She stepped back, feeling an entirely different sense of warmth, smiled, and said, “Thank you, Leliana. It is the most perfect gift I have ever received. And now we must make tea in it!”

She brewed a tea with a deep red colour and spicy flavour, that lit a flame inside the glass in the firelight, and they drank every drop of it. She felt giddy, whether from the perfection of the gift or the daring of the kiss, and Leliana seemed equally animated, laughing at the Ambassador's silly jokes and seeming unable to stop smiling.

One of the nobles who had just that day arrived at Skyhold had some... unfortunate... habits that were disconcerting to say the least, and a level of personal regard that would not tolerate a slight, and she regaled Leliana with tales of the diplomatic disasters that this combination of factors had occasionally sparked. Leliana, for her part, knew of some of the more scandalous aspects of the noble's family. And then Josephine remembered that she had forgotten to warn the Inquisitor about the Compte, and that the Inquisitor would be meeting him that evening, but luckily Leliana knew that Trev had planned to do work in the old library in the lower levels of the castle.

They found the Inquisitor and, to Josephine's surprise, Cassandra, down in the dusty old library, though the Seeker, seeming even more surly than usual, seized a book—from a section on agrarian practices, unexpectedly—and left almost as soon as they arrived. But Trev was very thankful to have received the warning, and some ideas were sparked between the three of them as to how to best handle the troublesome Compte.

So it was a... productive... afternoon overall, Josephine thought to herself later that evening, gazing at the glass teapot and smiling.

*          *          *

Almost two weeks later, things had largely settled down. The Inquisitor and her party had gone to search out Venatori in the Western Approach, so Skyhold was a little quieter generally. But then two things happened to Josephine, both unsettling.

The first was the discovery of another couplet, tucked under the inkwell on her desk. She had thought they had seen the last of them, but evidently she was wrong. This one was both more enigmatic and plainer in meaning than the others:

 _Flowers in a garden, midnight’s tale_  
_Pluck the bloom or forever fail_

There was a sense of urgency about this couplet that the others lacked. It seemed... almost like a clue of some sort, an exhortation to action, but what was she supposed to do? She stopped and realized that she was reacting to the rhyme as if it was written specifically for her eyes, which was ridiculous. There were so many rhymes, and they were clearly not written for her. But this one... a garden, and midnight. Was Leliana planning an assignation in the gardens at midnight tonight? And... who would fail if they did not go there?

It would be ridiculous to go. There was no excuse she could possibly find for spying on Leliana, especially after berating the spymaster for interfering in her own affairs. But... she felt she must know, if Leliana was truly taking a lover. If she saw someone with Leliana, it would break her... well. Perhaps it would break this foolish obsession. But to spy on them would be wrong...

She was going in circles. She forced herself to work on drafting the treaty agreement that she was currently finalizing.

The second event was in some ways even more startling, though it was probably only because the rhyme had already upset her that she found it so distressing. It was a silly thing, really, something she would normally have brushed off. She had spent weeks negotiating with a minor noble who owned land on an important transportation route; if the Inquisition had permission to travel over that land, two days could be shaved off the time required to transport goods between Skyhold and Crestwood. The noble in question was arrogant and narcissistic, and she had finally managed to convince him to allow this, not just by offering practical benefits in exchange but also by arranging a dinner in his honour. It turned out that he wished to meet not just the Inquisitor but the famous Hero of Orlais, so she had asked Cassandra to be present and be polite with him. Cassandra hated such affairs, and even more detested discussing her rescue of Divine Beatrix, so Josephine expected a response of annoyance followed by grudging acquiescence. But instead, the Seeker, who had been inexplicably snappish in recent days, had exploded, shouting that Josephine had no right to promise that she would be available to such fools, that she would have nothing to do with any of it, and that the entire negotiated settlement was a waste of valuable time and resources that could have been far better spent.

It was all... too much. She said politely, “I shall find something else to entertain him, then,” and retreated to her office and put her head in her hands. She did not weep, but it was a very close thing.

But sometime later the door opened, and it was Cassandra, flushed and chagrined, apologizing. And the apology was truly meant, she could see that, and so of course she forgave her. And then they had tea, and everything was all right again.

*          *          *

By evening she was in an agony of indecision. She could scarcely eat dinner, and retreated to her quarters early. She would go. She would not go.

An hour before midnight, she changed into simple, plain dark clothes that lacked her usual bright colours and flourishes, and made her way to the garden. She found a shadowed corner from which she could see the entire area, and sat on a bench. She had cast the die. She would sit here and see what unfolded; and then she would know, and it would be over.

But midnight came and went with the changing of the guard, and there was no sign of Leliana, or anyone else, other than one runner crossing the gardens quickly to take a staircase to the battlements.

She waited for quite a long time after the guard changed, caught in a kind of unthinking paralysis. The night was cool but not unpleasant, and she had dressed warmly. Crickets were chirping. The moon was close to full, and the garden seemed full of light. She could smell the night-blooming moonflowers, and stars crowded the sky.

And then there was a subtle movement in the shadows, and she realized that Leliana was standing there, watching her. “Josie,” said the spymaster quietly.

She might have known she would be discovered. Badly startled and almost forgetting why she was there herself, she blurted out, “Leliana... why are you here?”

There was a long moment of silence, and then Leliana said, “I... was going to say, by accident, but that is not true. I found couplets that suggested that you were... contemplating a liaison, and would be in the gardens tonight.” Then, more quickly, “I did not mean to interfere—I would not do that. But I wanted to be sure you were safe.”

Josephine stared at her, feeling thoroughly disoriented. She wished she could see Leliana's eyes, hidden in the shadows beneath her hood. “You—found rhymes about _me_?”

“Yes,” said the spymaster. “They were... ambiguous in some of their meaning, but they did seem clearly to be about you.”

“But I did not come here to meet anyone—” She stopped, and then said slowly, something tickling at her mind, “What did the rhyme say that brought you here tonight?”

Leliana drew a slip of paper out of a hidden pocket and held it out. Josephine took it gingerly. As she unfolded it, the spymaster said, “This is the last one I found. It is... more direct than the others. But if you were not meeting someone... I cannot understand its purpose.”

 _Flowers in a garden, midnight’s tale_  
_Pluck the bloom or forever fail_

Josephine stared at the words on the paper and said slowly, “I believe that I _do_ begin to understand.”

“You see more than I do, then,” said Leliana.

“Someone is playing with us. I came to the garden,” Josephine said, “because I found rhymes as well. About you.”

“Me!” Leliana sounded entirely bewildered.

“This is the last couplet I found.” Josephine handed her own slip of paper to Leliana. The spymaster took it, read it... and stared at it, stared long past the time required to read it.

“I do not have the excuse you do, of worrying about your safety,” said Josephine, standing and stepping out of the shadows. She felt as if she was risking everything she had on one unreliable hand of cards. And yet... there was nothing else to do. She swallowed, and found her voice again.  
“I came... because the rhymes suggested that you were in love with someone who was unaware of it. I came to watch, because I wanted to know if it was true, and who it was. And now... we are the only two here in the gardens. And I still want to know if it is true.”

“Josie...” said Leliana. Her face was still looking down, still in shadow, but the slip of paper in her hand was in moonlight, and it was very slightly trembling.

Josephine reached out and pushed back Leliana's hood, revealing the fine lines of her face, planed in light and shadow in the moonlight, and cupped her cheek, warm under her hand. She leaned forward and kissed Leliana lightly.

The spymaster's hand came up to grip Josephine's forearm, but did not push her away. Leliana's lips were soft and sweet.

“Josie,” said Leliana hoarsely when the Ambassador lifted her head, “this is not a good idea.”

“Is it not?” said Josephine. She took one of Leliana's hands in hers, pulled off the gauntlet, dropped it, and then did the same to the other hand. She laced her fingers through Leliana's, rubbing them gently with her thumb, and looked at her. The other woman did not pull her hands away; she only looked at Josephine. “I think it is a very good idea. And I think that it is something you also want.” She pulled Leliana's hands forward to rest on her hips and let her own hands slide up Leliana's arms to rest on her shoulders.

“What I want is not important,” said Leliana, her voice unsteady. “I cannot—I am not—you do not understand. I do not wish to hurt you.”

“I am not that seventeen year old you met so many years ago,” said Josephine, looking at her. “You think that I am inexperienced in love. And perhaps I am in some ways. But I have taken lovers. I have not given them my heart—but this is not because I have not experienced love, it is because my heart is set elsewhere, and has been for many years. I do not think you know my heart as well as I do.”

“It is not that,” said Leliana painfully. “It is... I am not the person you think I am.”

“You are a Bard,” said Josephine, “and I know very, very well what that means. You are the Left Hand of the Divine, and the Inquisition's spymaster. Do you think I do not understand what you do? I use diplomacy, and you are the reverse of that coin. But much of what we both do happens in the shadows, if we are truthful, and another truth is that sometimes mine is the best way and sometimes yours is the only way.”

“Josie—”

“I know that you are the Hand that strikes in shadow,” said Josephine. “But I also know that you are so very much more than that... even if you do not.” And then she kissed Leliana again, very gently, very lightly, but with all her heart hung on that kiss.

And this time Leliana responded, at first hesitantly, and then like a dam breaking, turning the kiss into something that was hungry and urgent, and _now_ , and Josephine felt herself pulled hard against the other woman, and wrapped her arms round her, feeling as if her heart were shattering into a thousand shards of light in her chest.

If anyone else had been in that garden, they would have seen two figures so close that they were almost indistinguishable; but chainmail and cold breezes are not convenient for those who wish to be close, and so the watcher would not have seen them for long. In Josephine's room, there were no watchers; just the candlelight glancing over the two women as they moved together, and a bed with quilts soon thrown back, and a long dance of exploration, and heat and mouths and hands and bodies moving and sliding and shifting and rising to each other.

Later, lying with her arms around Leliana and the spymaster's head resting on her breast, Josephine said softly, “Do you think we will ever know who left the rhymes for us to find?”

“I do not know,” said Leliana. “But if we ever find them... I think that I would thank them.” And she let her fingers trail down Josephine's belly, and kissed her breast, and the Ambassador sighed and moved against her, and all thoughts of the culprit were forgotten.

*          *          *

In the end, no one ever did solve the mystery of the couplets, and the excitement about them gradually faded away as Skyhold gossip focused on relationships that were real, and the rhymes were forgotten. Trev and Varric were everlastingly thankful that no harm, and in fact some good, had come from their machinations—but each privately resolved that some things were better left alone in the future.

*          *          *

_Josephine's weapon is tea._

_Cullen has finally succumbed, and attends the Interludes quite regularly. Trev and Cassandra come often, and now they are usually together. The companions join the Ambassador in her offices more frequently now as well, Vivienne, Varric, Blackwall, Solas, Dorian and Bull, Sera and now Harding, to sample what she has to offer. Harding's favourite, to the surprise of everyone, turns out to be a white tea of extraordinary subtlety._

_Cole does not drink tea, but he comes and sits and smiles._

_Leliana is always there. Leliana has finally admitted that she still likes the tea with cinnamon and spices best; but Josephine has realized that the truth is that what Leliana cares for is not the tea but the one who makes it._

_And she knows now that this is true of the others as well, and that for herself it is not the tea or the ritual that is important so much as those she makes it for. The tea is a sheath for the real weapon: the affection that pulls them all together over a cup of steaming liquid._

**Author's Note:**

> Oh geez, another story that got away from me. This was NOT what I intended to write. It started with a snippet that popped into my mind, which I posted to Tumblr, and kind of... expanded... from there.
> 
> It was all going to be about Josephine and Leliana, and it was going to be fairly short and altogether poetic. But then I had to bring Trev into it to set up that one scene, especially because Cassandra’s story set this one off, and Trev sometimes absolutely refuses to be serious, and then my partner pointed out that Trev would be annoyed enough at Leliana to be inclined to cause havoc (my partner is WICKED and really should get co-credit for the plotline), and then I had to write the couplets, and my partner happily provided the rhyme about Sera and Lace Harding, who then sat up and insisted on a walk-on, and then so did several other people, and, well, you get the idea. All these characters are just so damn noisy and demanding.
> 
> At least Josephine and Leliana are still in there.
> 
> Oh, and btw: Kids, DO NOT TRY THIS AT HOME. Playing with other people's relationships may work in a story, but the thought of what could happen in real life... yeesh.


End file.
